


In Fire and Blood

by theweightofmywords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Depression, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drinking to Cope, First Kiss, First Time, Hogsmeade, M/M, Metal Harry, Moshpit, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Third Person Limited, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Break Up, Punk Harry, Recreational Drug Use, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re wizards living in Muggle London, and it is the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. One held out his hand, and the other grabbed on. They’re just boys, really, trying to find their way out of the rubble.</p><p>A story in which Draco and Harry are lost after the war. A story in which they find life in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Fire and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns these characters, and my life. Title taken from Pablo Neruda's poem, "Sonnet LXVI: I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You." 
> 
> Author's Note: 
> 
> To my prompter, MsB, I hope you enjoy this. I loved writing it. 
> 
> I would be nothing as a writer without my Beta, Rachael aka Zaubermauz aka [ Basillisks ](http://basillisks.tumblr.com/). You're more of a co-author at this point. Thank you for your tears and critiques, your gentle pushes, your contributions to the Drarry universe I was trying to create, and your companionship throughout this process. 
> 
> Also, many thanks to [Han ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HEWinter) aka [ goldxnsnitch ](http://goldxnsnitch.tumblr.com), who helped with grammar and Brit-proofing. Your suggestions are much appreciated.
> 
> There is some infidelity-like between Harry and an original male character, but is not when Draco and Harry are in a committed relationship. (It's complicated, okay?) There are references to self-destructive behaviors, drinking, smoking, and some drug use.
> 
> If you'd like to comment on [ Livejournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/315455.html), please do!

I do not love you except because I love you;  
I go from loving to not loving you,  
From waiting to not waiting for you  
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;  
I hate you deeply, and hating you  
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you  
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume  
My heart with its cruel  
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who  
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,  
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

\- Sonnet LXVI, “I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You” by Pablo Neruda

 

* * *

 

_They are eighteen, and the summer air has coated their arms in sweat. They spin and thrash at punk shows, their hands clasped together as they run through the crowds. Their ears ring as they stumble home at night. They are eighteen, and they don’t know that they’re in love, but we know better. We see what they cannot. The way they smile when they kiss, their eyes drifting closed. Gentle touches of hands on lower backs, arms, faces. Heads leaning on shoulders as they fall asleep on the train. It’s as if they’re from another world._

_They are._

_They’re wizards living in Muggle London, and it is the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. One held out his hand, and the other grabbed on. They’re just boys, really, trying to find their way out of the rubble._

 

* * *

 

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry lifted his head from Draco’s chest. It was early morning, and the day had not yet seized them from their rest. They laid awake, still and quiet. Harry must have looked worried for Draco to have broken the silence.

“It’ll be the first of September soon,” Harry mumbled.  
  
“You’re not planning to go back to Hogwarts, are you?” Draco asked, his hand drifting absentmindedly through Harry’s hair.

“No… No, I’m not,” Harry replied. “But I think I need to go back to the Wizarding world.”

Draco’s face froze. He stared out the window.

“We can’t hide out here forever.”

“I’m not hiding, Potter.”

“They asked me to help them. They want to send me on more missions,” Harry said quietly.

Draco looked at him sharply.

“Draco, there are still more dark wizards to be caught. And they want me to go abroad, help out overseas,” he explained.

“What do _you_ want?” Draco asked.

“I want -” Harry mumbled, looking down, “peace. I want peace.”

“This war will never end,” Draco told him. They laid beside each other now, not touching.

“It’s my responsibility,” Harry insisted.

“You don’t owe them anything,” Draco shot back. “You’ve done enough.”

“I want to help. Stop making me feel bad for wanting to do some good!”

Draco turned on his side to look at him and grabbed his hands. “You could get hurt.”

“I could get hurt walking across the street,” Harry replied casually.  
  
“It’s not the same.” Draco let go of his hands and turned onto his stomach, his face partially obscured by the pillow. Harry smiled sadly.

“I know,” he said, his hand reaching out to touch Draco’s face.

 

* * *

 

_They say goodbye during the final days of August._

_Harry is trying his hardest to smile. It was his idea, after all. He can see the worry in the stormy grey of Draco’s eyes. He doesn’t want anyone else to hurt because of him. He imagines Draco moving on, smiling against someone else’s mouth, and it is with this thought that he tells him, “It’s better this way.”_

_Sitting beside Harry on their unmade bed, Draco feels like his bones are jangling, like he is too close to the edge of the platform as a train thunders by. He thinks, No. This is_ not _better. But he imagines himself pacing around his flat, seeing Harry’s body in St. Mungo’s. He imagines himself missing Harry when he’s gone. He looks at Harry and nods._

_He wants to laugh because this feels like a break-up, and he almost does until he realises that it is. Whatever it is that they had, their secret moments over the summer-- it is ending. He thinks about Harry’s voice when he approached him after his trial, about how they began to Owl each other, until one night, Harry asked, “Want to grab a pint?” How they ventured to a pub in Muggle London because they both wanted to disappear. Draco isn’t sure if anyone else knows them the way they know each other._

_Draco just keeps nodding, and he has so much to say, so naturally, he says nothing. He tries to imagine them together, stumbling down Diagon Alley late at night, and it feels wrong. They’d have to worry about landing on the front page of the Prophet. Draco couldn’t care less what people say about him, but he knows that Harry still cares. Harry is the Golden Boy, but Draco? He is just the boy who wants to keep him safe._

_He wonders if he should fight him over this. If he should cry and scream and kick or call Harry names. As he thinks of hurtful words he could sling at Harry, he thinks about his body below him, Harry’s whispers._

_“I’m yours… yours… yours.”_

How foolish _, Draco realises. Harry belongs to everyone, and because of this, belongs to no one, least of all him. He will not fight him on this. But Draco feels like he’s being left behind, and he decides then and there that if he is to be left behind, he will do so with his dignity intact. He can do some of the leaving too._

 _“It would’ve never worked anyway,” Draco says. He sees the hurt across Harry’s face, and he thinks,_ Good. Now you know how I feel.

_For the first time in a while, Draco hurts Harry. He hates it but revels in the familiarity. He wonders if this is how it will be when they see each other again. Harry will reclaim his place in the public eye, the Chosen One. Draco will return too, but where will he land? He’ll be vilified, and rightly so, he realises. Maybe he will open an apothecary or try to work for Gringotts. He will do so with his head down, and when he passes Harry, he will only nod._

_They were always meant to be like a sunset. Beautiful, but ephemeral._

_“I think I could tolerate you as a friend,” Draco says suddenly, as he realises how quickly it is ending. His sarcasm is like armour guarding his jangling bones and his ever-fragile heart. He feels foolish even suggesting friendship, because when have they ever been friends? He thinks about their mornings together, spent on the couch of Harry’s flat. How Harry taught him to cook bacon without burning it, how to use a vacuum cleaner. The nights they fell asleep against each other, Muggle films playing on the television._

_They were friends. Good friends, even. Friends might work, even if more-than-friends won’t. Draco stares at Harry and raises his eyebrow in a silent challenge._

_Harry takes in Draco’s resolved stare, and he wonders if Draco will think back fondly on their time together. He hopes so._

_Harry grins. “Yeah. Friends.”_

 

* * *

 

Draco stared out the window in irritation. The dismal October rain fell heavily. He usually found the sound of rain soothing, but his nerves felt frayed. He hadn’t heard from Harry in weeks.

Harry had told him that he was going to be away on a mission but that he expected to be home in a few days. “Don’t worry,” he had said in a cavalier tone, as if he were merely going on holiday. Draco had squinted at Harry, annoyed partially with Harry’s lack of self-preservation but mostly with his inability to stop him.

Draco exhaled slowly and walked towards the bedroom of his small Hogsmeade flat. He had yet to decorate his new home. Although Draco was given a light punishment, thanks to Harry’s testimony, the Ministry had frozen most of his family’s accounts during their investigation into the Malfoys’ war crimes. Draco had little cash left but too much pride to accept help from Harry, so his flat took on a rustic and sparse feel by necessity. However, he enjoyed the peace and quiet of his home, the way the walls didn’t burn with dark magic, the absence of bad memories in every room. The Manor was too big, too cold, too _haunted_ for him now.

During his brief foray into living in Muggle London, he had discovered that he enjoyed Muggle literature. Imagining his father’s indignant disapproval only made Draco devour the books with more relish. He settled onto his bed with _The Count of Monte Cristo_ in his hands and started to read. He got two paragraphs in when he heard a noise in his kitchen. His reflexes still sharpened from his experiences in the war, he drew his wand and tiptoed quietly down the hallway.

“Draco?”

He froze. Lowering his wand, he entered the kitchen.

Harry stood there, a bag of groceries in his arms.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, confusion and relief crossing his face.

“I brought you tea and biscuits,” Harry answered, grinning sheepishly.

“When did you get back?” Draco stood still in the doorway.

“This morning. I was in the hospital for a few days. They wanted to keep me until I was cleared, and-”

“You were in the hospital,” Draco repeated plainly.

Harry shrugged. “Well, yeah. I got hit by a spell, but really, I’m okay now.”

Draco raised his eyebrow, shoving the image of Harry in a hospital bed to the back of his mind. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. I was starting to think you forgot about me,” he said, coolly.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Harry smiled as he rolled his eyes. “Want tea? I brought Earl Grey.”

Draco stared at Harry and shook his head. “Earl Grey and biscuits. Because it’s raining.”

“You still like Earl Grey and shortbread on rainy days, right?” Harry asked, turning away from Draco to fill the kettle with water.

Draco’s lips parted slightly, and he closed his eyes.

“I do,” he murmured. “You remembered correctly.”

 

* * *

 

_Harry finds Draco’s strength surprising. Draco’s arms are firm as they hold up Harry’s legs. His legs and back support the two of them, as he thrusts into Harry, their ragged breaths and the rain against the window the only sounds inside the tiny London flat. He grabs hold of Draco’s shoulders and throws his head back, not even noticing the sharp pain from his head hitting the wall behind him. All he feels is Draco, and it is so good._

_Draco cries out and Harry feels his hips thrust deeper, as if he can’t get any closer though he wants to. Harry moans, an open invitation. He wants more and more, and Draco just keeps giving it to him until he has nothing left._

_He drops Harry’s legs, one by one, his stamina fading. They wander to the bedroom and fall against the cold sheets._

_They had barely made it up the steps of his flat earlier that evening before Harry pulled him closer. “I want you to take me,” he had whispered._

_Draco is wandless, and Harry rarely uses magic anymore, but when Draco’s body moves against his, he could swear he sees the lights flicker, the air crackle. Their intrinsic magic, fusing together, causes a disruption in the electric fields around them._

_Harry stares at Draco, his chest still heaving. His skin is a pale pink, like the sky at sunset, and Harry feels a tinge of sadness just looking at him. He thinks of the way Draco nipped at his bottom lip so hard that he drew blood. Draco had brushed his thumb against his lip and sucked on it._

_“You’re mine,” Draco had whispered, and Harry found himself nodding._

_But when Harry thinks about them together, he sees a spinning top. Faster and faster they turn as they approach their fated fall. He wonders when it will end. Its inevitability is clear to him. They are eighteen and in the prime of their life, and they are running further and further away from the world from which they came. Kingsley’s letters requesting him to join the Aurors sit in the bottom of his desk drawer, and Harry can’t bring himself to answer them. He tries so hard to forget the faces of the dead and then feels sick at how selfish he is. He wants to earn their praise, to track down every dark wizard and witch until no one else has to die. He knows it’s an impossible task, but he wants so badly to erase his debt. He wants to, and yet-_

_They get high on uppers in dingy bathrooms before thrashing at punk shows, the screaming vocals and booming drums barely drowning out the screams in their minds. They are just nameless faces in a sea of people, holding hands as they ride the train, laughing too loudly as they run down the pavement. Their joy feels like something Harry shouldn’t feel, not when there are people who still mourn. In what world could this be sustained - a boy hellbent on catching dark wizards in love with a boy bearing the Dark Mark? He would have laughed if anyone told him a year ago that he knew what Draco Malfoy looked like in the light of the rising sun._

_He looks at Draco’s resting form and tries to memorise the moment. He has made up his mind._

_“Alright?” Draco whispers, pulling Harry close against him._

_“Yeah. Of course,” Harry lies._

_They fall asleep, and when Draco awakens, Harry is already sitting up._

_August is coming to a close, and the air feels cooler already as summer slips away._

_“We need to talk,” he says quietly. Draco sits up and stares at him, his eyes a cloudy grey. Still, he pulls Harry closer. Harry lays his head on Draco’s chest hesitantly. Even with Harry in his arms, Draco already knows.  
_

 

* * *

 

“How long will you be gone this time?”

Harry looked up from his bacon and glanced at Hermione. Her face was obscured by the Prophet.

“A few weeks, probably. They want to send me to Wales. That’s where we think the base of a major illegal potions ring is located,” Harry replied.

Hermione lowered her paper. Her brows creased and she bit her lip worriedly.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“It’s nothing, it’s just,” she sighed, “You’ll be missing Christmas.”

Harry bit into his bacon and chewed harder than he probably needed. An uneasy feeling rose in his chest.

“There’s always next Christmas,” he replied dismissively.

“But, this is the first one since-”

“Hermione, I can’t say no. They need me.”

“What about what _you_ need?” she asked, grasping onto Harry’s hands.

“What I need is to catch these wizards,” Harry snapped, his hands pulling at his hair. “They’re dangerous- they have over twenty murders to their name, and kids are getting hooked on these potions, do you understand that?”

“I understand, but-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Harry said with finality.

Hermione stood up and brought her plate to the sink. Her shoulders slumped, she said in a small voice, “We thought it’d be nice to all be together. We’ve lost so much, and it would’ve been nice. That’s all.”

Harry felt his eyes prickle, and he squeezed them tightly.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He heard her turn on the sink as she washed the dishes.

“We look cheery this morning!”

Harry opened his eyes to see Ron standing in the doorway, a puzzled expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked Hermione.

“Harry’s leaving again,” she said flatly.

Ron looked at Harry, as the light in his eyes faded.

“Oh,” he replied quietly.

 

* * *

 

_It surprises Draco how easily they fall into a rhythm. Draco can’t sleep when he is at the Manor, but he sleeps soundly beside Harry. They don’t talk about the past, except to say, “Not yet.” He sees the circles under Harry’s eyes, how he seems to hold his breath when their conversation begins to veer in that direction. He changes the conversation with a witty remark, and he regrets nothing when he is rewarded by the squeeze of Harry’s hand, by the ease with which Harry falls asleep in his arms. Draco realises that he is perhaps kinder than people, himself included, previously thought, because he keeps doing this for Harry._

_His epiphany arrives one morning in late July. He would do anything for Harry, and the revelation makes him laugh. He_ loves _Harry. He wants him to be happy and well-rested, and most of all, safe and alive. He knows that Harry has been hiding letters from the Auror Department in his desk. He is observant. Harry’s smile appears stretched too thin, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed over. He crashes his body into the crowds, his arms pushing and pulling, his legs kicking madly, until he is bloodied and bruised. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, when Draco tries to pull him out of the crowd. Draco joins him and throws his body in front of Harry, a desperate attempt to take some of the pain._

_“What do you think we’ll be like when we’re old?” Draco asks. They are smoking a blunt out of the window of Harry’s flat in celebration of his birthday. As he asks the question, he can’t help but imagine Harry with salt and pepper hair, his own hair turning silver with age. He shakes the image out of his head. Longing is a dangerous thing._

_Harry’s voice is strangled as he replies, plumes of acrid smoke emerging from his mouth._

_“I don’t think about getting old.”_

_When Harry tries to think of the future, he sees a battered soldier. He sees curses and hexes and blinding green lights. He wants so badly to see Draco when he thinks of his future, but longing is a dangerous thing._

_Draco stares at Harry, his eyelids heavy. He runs a hand through Harry’s hair, his fingers resting atop his head._

_“You might go grey,” he mumbles._

_“I might die before then,” Harry says. He is careless enough to smile as he speaks._

_Draco’s fingers tighten around Harry’s hair. He steps closer and hugs Harry close to him._

_“Stop it,” he whispers. “If you die, you really will be Saint Potter. And I’d hate every fucking moment of it.”_

_“You’d be fine,” Harry replies. Draco’s eyes narrow, and he holds Harry’s shoulders firmly. He hates when Harry tries to write him and his feelings off like they are no big deal._

_“No,” he states. “I wouldn’t be fine. Don’t you get it?”_

_Instead of answering him, Harry takes another hit. He looks at Draco with sad eyes as he holds his breath. With his lungs filled with smoke, he lets himself think of the things he is too afraid to say. When he lets himself think of the future he wants and not the one he thinks he deserves, he sees Draco. Draco with silver hair, wrinkles around his eyes from years of mischievously laughing together. Afternoons spent in bed, doing something indulgent like reading a book or just napping. The future he wants has Draco in it, and it is impossibly simple._

_He exhales abruptly, his visions of the future vanishing. As he exhales, Draco sucks the air in. Their lives, like the smoke that passes between their lips, have always been interwoven._

_“I’m not in the right place to_ get _it, Draco,” he says quietly. He falls onto the bed.  He wants Draco in his future, but it feels so unattainable. The thought of it crushes him. He settles for Draco in the present. He is happy right now, although he feels like he’s living on borrowed time._

_He may as well enjoy it while he can._

_“C’mere, Malfoy. Ever fuck while you’re high?” he asks, his glassy eyes focused on Draco’s lithe silhouette in the window._

I need you, _Harry thinks as he watches Draco approach the bed._ I’m yours. Don’t you get it?

 

* * *

 

“Give me an update, Potter,” Robards requested over the ear piece in Harry’s ear. They had adapted the idea of the Weasleys’ extendable ear product to be used on the field. Harry crouched behind a bush, concealed by the charms that Hermione had taught him while they were on the run. The cold December wind ruffled his hair.

“I have a line of sight on the subject,” he whispered. “I want to get him.”

“Potter, no. Wait for back-up.”

“He might leave. I need to move _now_.”

“Potter, I’m commanding you to wait. We don’t know what’s in that house,” Robards said sternly.

Harry clenched his fist around his wand and shivered as he thought of the rush that would come as he charged at the house.

“Potter? Come in. Give me an update,” Robards instructed.

“I’m going in,” Harry decided. He heard Robards’ scolding in his ear as he stood up. Slipping his invisibility cloak over his head, he began to run towards the house.

“Homenum Revelio,” he whispered upon reaching the front door. He detected only one human within the house. Emboldened, he slipped in through the back door. His heart racing, he stepped forward, his lips pursed shut to quiet his breathing. He stepped into the doorway, an _expelliarmus_ on his lips, when he felt his body freeze. He fell to the floor and tried to scream as pain coursed through his every nerve.

He opened his eyes to see a man standing over him, his wand trained at his chest.

“You fool,” the man chided.

Harry willed himself to focus on the man’s face, even as he felt blood begin to drip out of his nose and mouth. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. The door burst open, and he heard the footsteps of five, maybe eight, people. He heard people shouting defensive spells, and with a thud, he saw the body of the man who stood above him on the ground beside him.

The pain subsiding slightly, his vision blurred to black.

 

* * *

 

_The double bass drum’s frenetic rhythms pound in Harry’s chest as he is tossed to and fro in the crowd. He begins to swing his head to the music, his hair falling into his eyes. He throws his body into the person next to him, wincing in pain. He feels somebody kick his leg, and he runs headfirst into the crowd._

_The pit is familiar in the searing pain it brings. The screams from the speakers match the cries inside Harry’s mind. “This pain is part of being human,” Dumbledore had told him. He feels his humanity, his beating heart, with each bruise._

_Someone grabs his hand and pulls him out of the crowd. His eyes focus, and he is face to face with Draco Malfoy. This friendship, or whatever it is, is still so new that he forgets that his presence shouldn’t be a surprise. He thinks it is fitting that he should be here with Draco, their history mottled with fire and blood._

_“Be careful,” Draco shouts over the music into Harry’s ear. He is wearing Harry’s clothes, his wizarding robes wholly inappropriate for the setting. Draco looks ridiculous, his bony knees poking out of the holes in Harry’s jeans. The shirt had clung to Harry’s chest, but on Draco, it just hangs, tattered and worn. Harry grins._

_“What’s the worst that could happen?” Harry yells. He takes Draco’s hand and enters the pit once more._

_Draco freezes, his mind flustered. The mosh looks like a fight, a pile of wild animals crashing into each other. He sees Harry being pushed around, and something inside him aches. He quickly jumps in front of Harry as he is thrown backwards, their bodies colliding. Someone shoves Draco, their limbs a sweaty mess against his back. He grabs Harry’s hands and tries to shield him. He looks down, and Harry’s mouth is lolled open. He is smiling._

_The music is loud and angry, a litany of indecipherable screams. People are grabbing and pushing at each other with force, and Draco nearly falls to the ground. He feels like he is in the Battle again, and he stands frozen in fear. He is half-tempted to yell Harry’s name, the blaring guitars rising like fiendfyre in his ears. Exhaling and stuffing his shaking hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans, he spots Harry in the crowd. Harry’s body tenses, as if he is about to charge. Draco feels his legs twitch as his brows furrow. He looks at Harry, and he wonders if this is what it would have looked like if Harry dove the broom straight into the flames._

_As he starts to crash his body against the wall of people, Draco runs in front of him, and they both collide against the crowd. Draco grimaces as he absorbs the shock._

_"Are you crazy?” Draco shouts._

_“I’m alive!” Harry yells, his eyes wild. Draco sees sweat running down his face. It settles in the dip above his mouth, and Draco catches himself staring._

_“There has to be a better way, Potter!” Draco replies. They are standing closer now, the music obscenely loud._

_Harry’s hands grip his bare arms, and he looks up at Draco. The pupils in his green eyes are wide as he grips Draco’s bare arms, pulling him closer. His smile is similar to the kind he wore when he was in the pit, but something about it is different. Draco could swear that Harry almost looks shy as he smiles up at him. He feels himself smile back._

_Their first kiss is slow and far too sweet for the violent mosh pit where it takes place. Or perhaps it is that much sweeter, because in the chaos and the screaming, the pushing and shoving, Draco and Harry stand against each other, their hands gentle as they hold one another. Harry pulls away first, his eyes wide and worried. Draco senses this, and he understands. This isn’t supposed to happen. They aren’t meant to be in a sweaty London pub in ripped clothes, bloody, bruised, and half-deaf. Falling into this rhythm should not feel so easy, not when the war is still so fresh in their minds._

_Draco isn’t supposed to be living a wandless life in punishment for his part in the war. His father is not supposed to be in Azkaban. His mother is not supposed to be drinking herself to death, alone in the Manor._

_Harry is moving his hands down Draco’s arms, as if to separate. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it happened, and with a wrench in his stomach, Draco realises that he wants it. It is the only good thing he has left. He grabs Harry’s hands and kisses him again._

_Their second kiss tastes hungry, like they are both starving and have been given their first taste of bread, like they are both on the threshold between life and death and have been shocked back to life._

 

* * *

 

Ron grabbed Harry’s hand tightly as he listened to Healer Vasquez speak.

“It was close, but he is stable now. We induced a coma to prevent any damage to the brain, and we will monitor him closely over the next few days. If the swelling goes down, we’ll do what we can to bring him out of the coma,” Healer Vasquez explained.

“You’ll do what you can?” Hermione repeated. She held onto Ron’s other hand, the three linked together once more.

Healer Vasquez faltered. “Yes. This is a common procedure when there is potential for traumatic brain injury, and-”

Hermione began to weep into Ron’s shoulder. Ron stared firmly at Harry’s hand in his and grasped Hermione’s hand even harder.

“His vitals are good. He’s young and healthy, and we were able to intervene early on. His prognosis is good,” Healer Vasquez said in firm, but gentle, tones.

“Don’t promise us anything,” Ron said quietly.

“I’m not. I can’t promise anything except that we are doing all we can,” she replied.

Hermione looked at her and nodded. “Thank you,” she said politely.

Healer Vasquez gave a comforting smile. “Is there anyone else who should be notified?”

Ron looked up suddenly as Hermione replied, “No. We’ve already told the Weasleys and Andromeda, and-”

“Yes,” Ron interrupted. “I have to tell him.”

Hermione turned towards Ron, her brow furrowed. “Tell who?”

Ron swallowed nervously. “Malfoy,” he mumbled. “Draco.”

“Malfoy?” Hermione echoed, incredulously.

Ron stood, laying Harry’s hand at his side gently. He nodded.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would he need to know that Harry’s hurt? He has no place here!”

“Hermione, now is not the time to-”

“I just don’t understand why he should be privy-”

“He’s Harry’s friend, or something, I don’t know!”

“‘Friend, or something?’ What, should we call Michael Corner too? What about Zacharias Smith? Should we just let any random person into this moment? Draco Malfoy is _not_ Harry’s friend!” Hermione exclaimed as frantic worry seeped into her voice.

“They were _together_ , Hermione! This past summer! They were... “ Ron faltered, “Merlin, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this.”

He pulled at his hair in frustration. Hermione’s hands fell to her lap as her eyes widened.

“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” Hermione said in quiet voice, her brown eyes filling with tears.

Ron sat down next to her and held her closely. “He wanted to, he just.. felt bad, is all. He said that Draco wants to talk to you, apologise properly. He’s different now. At least, that’s what Harry says.”

She shrugged. “How did you find out?”

“I just noticed that they both re-entered the Wizarding World around the same time. And Harry kept mentioning him in conversation, like people do when they fancy someone, you know? I put the clues together, and just asked him one day,” he explained.

“You’ve always been smarter than me, Ron Weasley,” she mumbled.

“I’m just observant, when I want to be,” he replied. He kissed her forehead. “They’re not together anymore, but Harry cares about him still.”

Hermione looked between Harry and Ron and smiled weakly. “I guess you should let Malfoy know then,” she shrugged.

Ron stood up and took a deep breath. Hoping that Draco’s Floo was open, he made his way to the fireplaces in St. Mungo’s lobby. Moments later, he emerged in what appeared to be Draco Malfoy’s flat.

It was smaller than he expected. Its decorations were simple- a few fairy lights and a small Christmas tree- and he would have even called them rustic if not for the fact that it was Malfoy’s flat. He didn’t know that Malfoys were capable of being anything but snooty and refined. He was about to call for Malfoy when he heard a voice.

“Harry?”

Suddenly, Ron felt weak. If he said the words, they would be real, and he was still in a bit of denial himself.

“It’s about time,” Draco said from the other room. “I was wondering when you’d-”

Draco stopped short in the doorway, his smirk frozen on his face. The book he was holding fell to the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowing. Ron felt his mouth go dry.

“Harry,” Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What about Harry?” Draco asked, the blood draining from his face.

“He’s…” Ron stammered.

“Weasley. What happened to Harry?” Draco demanded, moving to stand in front of Ron.

“He’s at St. Mungo’s. A raid gone bad. He’s-”

“Is he alive? Harry- is he alive?” Draco’s voice sounded shrill in Ron’s ears, his hands grabbing onto Ron’s shaking hands in a panic. Ron nodded.

“Yeah, he’s alive,” Ron informed him. Draco gasped and nodded, his hands holding his head as he looked at the ceiling. Tears filled his eyes.

“He’s alive, Draco. The Healers put him in a coma for now, but he’s alive,” Ron said in the same gentle tones the Healer had used with him earlier.

Draco cleared his throat and blinked. When he looked at Ron again, his face appeared calm.

“Can I see him?” he asked, his voice steady. Ron wondered how he managed to have that much control.

“Yeah. Of course,” Ron found himself saying. He knew that he would have to explain to his family why Malfoy was there, but, remembering Harry’s sad smile as he talked about Malfoy, he had a feeling that he’d want him to be there.

Silently, Draco slipped on a pair of loafers. He threw on a dark green robe and rubbed his face. Exhaling, he turned to face Ron.  
  
“I’ll see you there,” he said. He threw Floo powder into his fireplace and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

_Harry coughs as he emerges from the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron. He spots a familiar head of blonde hair across the pub as he brushes soot and ash from his arms and hair._

_Upon his re-entry into Wizarding Society, Harry was hailed like a king, as he dreaded. In the Ministry, where he had been a wanted man a year prior, people ran up to him to thank him. People gawked, rumours swirled, his every move analysed._

_By the end of September, Harry misses the Muggle World. He misses the way he felt like he could just walk through a crowd and cease to be himself. He thinks about the way he squeezed his eyes shut, the screams from the band and the shove from the crowd serving as some sort of protection from the chaos in his mind._

_He misses Draco too, but he can barely admit that to himself._

_We know better, though._

_He steels himself as the familiar blonde turns his head. He knows he has been spotted, and so he gives a weak smile._

_Draco’s smile is frozen on his face. He purses his lips into a polite grin as he stands up and approaches Harry._

_“Hi,” Harry says. He feels silly. This is so polite, and he and Draco had never been polite. They had been teeth, and lips, and sweat, and blood, and tears, and-_

_“How are you?” Draco asks._

_Draco has talked himself down from going to Harry’s late at night, itchy with loneliness. He has held back sudden tears that arise when he lets himself think about him for too long. He has worked hard to prepare for this moment. Draco knows that his face is impossible to read- He has practised._

_“Alright. Busy with work and all. Training and meetings,” Harry replies, and his face is hot with anxiety. He forces a smile. “It’s actually a bit boring.”_

_“Looks like you’ve lost your punk edge, Potter,” Draco teases. His tone is not overly kind but it lacks coldness. Harry remembers their conversations on the sofa, how quiet Draco’s voice could be when he spoke. Perhaps he and Draco were never polite, but there were moments when they were gentle and kind. Soft smiles, whispered questions, quiet laughter, fingers making small circles along spines, and-_

_He misses Draco, and_ now- _now, he cannot deny it._

_“I don’t think the aurors need a punk edge while on the job. Anyway, I’m leaving in two days for my first mission,” Harry says, smiling. He pushes the thought of missing Draco aside, and begins to talk about his mission. It feels safe as he describes his supervisors and his teammates, new defensive spells he learned, what it is like to work in the Ministry. It is so different than the nights they shared, slick with sweat, ears pounding with the music, running through London like they had no cares._

_He creates the distance between himself and Draco, because he misses him, and compared to running headfirst towards dark magic, he finds that missing Draco is inexplicably more dangerous._

_Draco nods in response as he listens. He looks at Harry, who is wide-eyed and speaking excitedly, and he smiles, even though the thought of Harry putting himself in harm’s way makes him want to cry. Harry has a nobility to him, a selfless stubborn streak which pushes people away. Draco had always wondered what it would be like to be Harry’s friend, and now he knows. It means to be held at arm’s length, to never know what he’s really thinking, to want to scream at him for carrying everything alone.  He is aware of the guilt which Harry holds in the circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. Harry knows he is running away. He thinks it is the brave thing to do._

_Draco can be brave too. He has practised being brave for Harry. He has stood in front of a mirror and imagined himself saying the words. “Good luck, Potter.” “Be safe, Potter.” “Don’t do anything stupid, Potter.”_

_Which, as we know, really just means, “Come back alive, Harry.”_

_Draco knows this too, and so he nods more and smiles at Harry. They continue to talk, even when the Leaky grows louder as the night goes on._

_“You’ve finally managed to get robes that fit you right,” Draco says, eyeing Harry’s new robes._

_“It only took living with a posh ponce for two months to get me to care about my appearance,” Harry quips. Draco’s eyes narrow, but then he rolls his eyes and laughs. Later, when Harry goes home that night, he thinks, “Maybe we really can be friends.”_

_We know better though. They could never really be_   _just_ _friends._

 

* * *

 

When Draco arrived at Harry’s hospital room, the air left his lungs. Harry laid before him, and he looked small in the bed. A device sat beside the bed, beeping in time with Harry’s heartbeat.

Unaware of Hermione in the room, Draco walked stoically to Harry’s side. He reached out his hand haltingly. He wanted to touch him, to reassure himself that Harry was still alive, but he was afraid he’d fall apart with Harry’s hand in his again.

“You can sit down,” Hermione said quietly. Draco’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice. He glanced behind him and pulled the chair closer to the bed. Hermione nodded slowly as he sat down. Taking a deep breath, he reached for Harry’s hand. Rubbing his thumb against the back of Harry’s hand, he closed his eyes. The lump in his throat rose, and he knew he was past the point of hiding. He had never been good at concealing his emotions for too long. His tears always betrayed him.

Draco leaned forward, and his face hidden, he began to cry.

“Come back, Harry,” he pleaded quietly. He had never been religious, but he repeated those words like a sacred incantation.

Draco sat up at the sound of another chair scraping against the floor. He opened his eyes to see Ron sitting next to Hermione. Draco cleared his throat and wiped his face brusquely.

They stared at each other in silence.

“Thank you for informing me,” Draco said. His tone was steady and polite, diluted of all the passion he had unwillingly shown to Ron in his living room.

“Harry told me about you,” Ron replied, shrugging. “He cared about you, I think. I mean, as much as he could care about anyone right now.”

Draco took in a sharp breath. He gave a weak laugh.

“He cares about everyone so much that it feels like he cares about no one,” Draco mumbled. Hermione smiled sadly.

“I think you’ve managed to find the perfect way to describe Harry,” she said.

Draco’s eyes lingered on Hermione briefly as he thought about one of the last times he had seen her, when she had been screaming on the floor at his feet. His stomach turned as he ran a shaky hand through his hair, all pretense of being cool and composed gone.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he replied.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she gave another sad smile. She nodded.

“Come walk with me,” she said, standing up.

Draco glanced at Harry and placed his hand gently by his side. Letting out a shaky breath, he followed Hermione out of the room.

 

* * *

 

_Draco offers Harry a glass of wine before he begins chopping the garlic. He is cooking dinner, the Muggle way, and Harry isn’t sure what shocks him more- that Draco is cooking by hand or that the image seems so natural to him._

_As part of the Ministry’s sentencing, Draco had been prohibited from using his wand for ninety days. Harry had taught Draco how to cook without magic over the summer. The ease with which Draco made potions carried over into the kitchen. He is a natural cook, his intuition guiding him towards the creation of meals both complex and simple._

_Although it is now November, and Draco’s ninety-day probation is long over, he still finds comfort in the repetitive motions of chopping vegetables, hearing the sizzle on the pan, seeing his hands create something beautiful from start to finish._

_Harry’s stomach grumbles as the scent of basil and garlic filled his nose, and Draco looks up, the knife going still in his hands._

_“It’ll be ready soon,” he says. He feels like he is finally settling into his flat, and seeing Harry at his dining table makes it feel like home more than anything else. He pushes this feeling down and focuses instead on the tiny pieces of garlic._

_As the pasta begins cooking, Draco takes a seat across from Harry at his small dining table and smiles. It is an easy, familiar smile, and it makes Harry think that maybe they really can be friends._

_“Well, what do you think?” Draco asks, waving his hand in the air. His eyes are bright and eager in anticipation of Harry’s answer._

_“About?”_

_Draco huffs in fake exasperation. “My flat! Last time you were here, we sat on the floor. But now, I have proper furniture! I mean, some of it is...antique, but,” his eyes flit downward just barely, “it’s mine.”_

_Harry looks around. The flat is sparse, but every bit of decoration feels intentional. He thinks of his own flat, whose only decorations are the piles of clutter he strews about._

_“It’s nice. I like it,” he replies. “It feels a bit empty though.”_

_Draco rolls his eyes. He was expecting that answer. “It’s minimalist, Potter. It’s bare on purpose.”_

_Harry nods as if suddenly enlightened.  “Right. And my flat is just deconstructed- the mess is everywhere, instead of in drawers and cabinets.”_

_Draco’s smile makes his eyes crinkle, and for a moment, Harry wants to know what Draco’s bedroom looks like. “That’s one way to put it,” Draco jokes. “I do have some decorations in the works. Want to see?”_

_Once his back is to Harry, Draco cringes. He is aware that he is talking too much, that he is showing his cards too easily to Harry. He shakes his head in disappointment as he holds his paintings in his hands. When it comes to Harry, he has never been good at hiding his emotions. It is the most un-Slytherin thing about him. He wonders if he should show Harry his paintings, or if showing him his creations would somehow feel too personal. He looks down at his painting, a large watercolour with vivid violets and blues, pinks and reds, and he remembers the sunset that June day when Harry let him inside for the first time. Harry knows him too well already._

_He straightens his posture before he leaves his study. His painting in his hands, he walks back towards the dining table._

_“I was thinking of hanging this above the mantel,” Draco tells him._

_“You did this?” Harry’s mouth opens slightly. “It’s beautiful, Draco.”_

_Draco feels heat rise to his face. It is only when he lets out his breath that he realises that he was holding it at all._

_“Art has always been a passion of mine,” he replies._

_He thinks of the thinly-veiled antagonism he received when he approached various apothecaries and businesses, asking for work, and how he channeled his shame and anger into his art. He had torn through papers, his knuckles white as they gripped the pastels. After that, he had decided that watercolours would be better. Their colours bleeding together put him at ease._

_“Anyway, I have a lot of time on my hands, so I picked up a hobby,” he adds._

_“Along with cooking,” Harry quips, glancing at the kitchen. Draco suddenly remembers the boiling pasta and walks quickly towards the kitchen._

_“Damn, I forgot!” Draco exclaims, walking quickly to the stovetop. He quickly drains the pasta and plates their dinner. Harry laughs good-naturedly, and despite Draco’s sudden worry, the evening feels relaxed in a way that neither of them have felt since summer._

_“I present, homemade pesto gnocchi with heritage tomatoes and fresh mozzarella cheese,” he announces dramatically as he places the plates on the table._

_Harry pats his stomach. “I better enjoy this kind of food while I can. I’ll be gone on surveillance duty for a bit,” he says. “I’ve been assigned to a detail, and I think we’re close to getting the person in charge.”_

_Draco chewed slowly. “What’s the case about?”_

_“There’s an illegal potions ring we’re close to bringing down-- they’ve had eyes on them for months, and we know where they’re based out of. They’re responsible for a few dozen murders too,” Harry explains._

_“Murders?”_

_“Mainly of rival dealers, witnesses-- people like that.”_

_Draco feels the unease grow in his stomach._

_“And no one’s ever seen the guy in charge of it all. He’s like this elusive figure. His hands haven’t touched anything illegal in years, probably- he has this whole group of people below him to do his work. It’s kind of genius, if you think about it,” Harry continues, animatedly._

_“It sounds dangerous,” Draco replies, gripping his wine glass. Harry’s hand stills, a gnocchi falling off the fork. He doesn’t want Harry to know that he has nightmares of stumbling across Harry’s dead body, of never again seeing his green eyes opening in the morning. He wants him to know that he cares, yes, but Draco knows that Harry does not want more than that. He chooses his words carefully._

_“Look,” Draco says. “Just be careful. It sounds like you’re dealing with people with reach. That’s all I’m saying.”_

_“Don’t worry. It’s part of the job,” Harry says, flippantly. He’s talking about how aurors need to place themselves in harm’s way, but he realises its second meaning as well: if you love an auror, worry is a fact of life._

_He wonders if Draco loves him still._

_Draco finishes off his glass of wine. “Be sure to let me know you’re alive, then,” he says, his brow raised._

_“Just read the paper. They’ll announce if I’m dead at least,” Harry mutters. His jumper feels itchy against his skin._

_“You’d just love for the Prophet to publish another story about you. The headline can read, ‘The Boy who Died.’”_

_Harry winces as he finishes the last of his wine. “It’s got a good ring to it. Very clever, Malfoy.”_

_Draco’s ears ring as adrenaline pumps through him. He feels angry suddenly, seeing how lightly Harry considers his own life._

_“Hey, maybe if you can’t get a job anywhere else, the Prophet will hire you. You’re good with words,” Harry continues. If Draco still loves him, he shouldn’t. Harry wants to make sure of this._

_“Oh, fuck you, Potter,” Draco hissed._ _  
_

_Harry’s hands grip the sides of the table as he steels himself._

Forget me, Draco. Move on, _he prays silently._

_“I have a thousand people to report to, people checking on my every move, every fucking day. Do you want me to report to you too?” Harry asks._

_“Forgive me for actually giving a fuck if you’re safe!” Draco yells._

_“Oh, because that’s your only reason! You’re more concerned that I come home to you every fucking night, like I’m just one of your belongings-”_

_“Shut up!” Draco stands suddenly from his chair, his wand in his hands._

_“Go ahead. I’m sure you know a few spells that could hurt me, Malfoy,” Harry spits back. His words are bitter in his mouth as he ignores the lump in his throat. He’s always been perceptive of people- it’s something that no one gives him much credit for. If Draco loves him, he shouldn’t. He’ll push and push and push, until Draco questions what it is he ever felt for him._

Forget me, Draco. Move on, _he repeats in his mind._

_They stare at each other, their chests heaving. Draco vanishes the half-eaten food from the table before walking away. His flat feels cold and constricting. It is too small now, with Harry in it. He feels foolish now, knowing that his painting is still on the dining table, knowing that Harry has seen it. Harry knows him better than anyone now, and he feels foolish._

_Harry hears a door slam. Tears burn his eyes as he realises that he still doesn’t know what Draco’s bedroom looks like, that he never got to finish the dinner Draco made for him. He walks slowly towards the closed door at the end of the hallway._

_Draco stands frozen on the other side of the door, his hands clamped over his mouth to cover the sound of his breathing. He used to do this as a boy in the Manor, having learned early on that Malfoys do not cry in front of others. He squeezes his eyes shut._

_It is pointless._

_Harry can hear his breathing from the other side of the door._

_“Draco…” he whispers. He touches the door and closes his eyes._

Move on, _he thinks._ I can’t give you what you need.

_“Thank you for dinner,” he mumbles instead. He walks towards the front door, his legs like lead._

 

* * *

The room appeared a soft pale yellow from the light of the rising sun. Harry’s eyes opened slowly. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he turned his head and saw a sleeping figure in the chair beside him.

“Draco?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. His throat felt dry.

“Hm?” Draco stirred in his sleep. Harry’s arm felt heavy as he lifted it to touch Draco’s hand.

“Hey,” Harry said, his voice gaining strength. Draco’s eyes flew open as he lifted his head quickly. A smile quickly grew on his face.

“Harry!” he exclaimed. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled face before grabbing Harry’s glasses. “Here,” Draco said quietly as he gently placed them on Harry’s face.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“You were attacked by one of the members of the potions ring. Some sort of curse that caused internal bleeding.” Draco’s smile faded as he spoke.

“Did they catch him?”

“They got the guy who did this to you. No one’s given up the guy in charge though. He’s still out there,” he replied, his voice cooler. Harry’s jaw clenched as he shook his head.

“We were so close,” he groaned. “Do you know if anyone’s still working the case?”

“The healers put you in a coma to prevent brain damage. You were close to dying.” Draco voice was low as he stared out the window.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he muttered.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” his hand against the glass window.

Harry sighed. “You know what I mean, Draco.”

“I don’t, actually,” Draco replied brusquely, turning to face Harry again. He began walking towards the door. “I should get the healer.”

“How long was I out?” Harry asked. Draco stood still at the foot of his bed and hesitated before answering.

“Five days,” he replied.

“And you haven’t been home,” Harry said plainly.

Draco looked out the window again.

“You’ve been here this whole time,” Harry said. It was more of a statement than a question, as Harry put together his observations of Draco: rumpled clothing, unshaven face, tired eyes.

“Yes,” Draco replied.

Draco held Harry’s gaze as silence filled the room. He raised his chin defiantly before Harry looked down abruptly. Harry stared intently at the thin hospital sheet and sighed. He looked defeated as he slumped in his bed.

“I’m in no place to be loved,” Harry mumbled.

Draco inhaled sharply. His eyes still fixed on Harry, he frowned.

“As if I have a choice,” Draco whispered. He shook his head quickly before clearing his throat. “I should get the healer.”

Harry didn’t blink until Draco left the room.

 

* * *

 

_Harry lights a cigarette and takes a slow drag as he stares blankly at the Muggle street in front of him. Children play on the pavement as the late September sun sets quickly. It is colder than the July afternoons he spent with Draco on these same steps, taking long drags of cigarettes._

_“So,” Ron says slowly, “You and Malfoy.”_

_“Me and Malfoy,” Harry confirms, smoke billowing out of his nose._

_“You and cigarettes too,” Ron grins. He motions for Harry to hand it to him. He inhales slightly before coughing. “I don’t understand,” he grimaces._

_“What? Malfoy? Or smoking?”_

_“Both, mate,” Ron shakes his head._

_Harry shrugs, as he is wont to do. He finds it easier than say words._

_“I just don’t understand how you go from hating each other to being, I dunno, boyfriends, or whatever you are.”_

_“Were,” Harry corrects him. “We’re not together anymore.”_

_Ron plucks the cigarette from Harry’s hand and takes another puff. He lets out a plume of smoke._

_“It didn’t feel as weird as I thought it would,” Harry continues. “We’ve a lot in common.”_

_Ron raises his eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah?” Ron asks._

_Harry hesitates. “He knows what it’s like to be used like a pawn.”_

_“Chess analogies aren’t gonna help it make sense, I’m afraid.” Ron motions for the cigarette again, and Harry just hands him his own. He lights it for him and shrugs._

_“It doesn’t have to make sense for you, but it makes sense.”_

_“Well, if it makes so much sense, why’d you end it?” Ron asks, coughing a little._

_Harry shrugs again. He hugs his knees to his chest._

_“Where’s he living now, anyway?”_

_“Some place near Hogsmeade,” Harry replies. He winces slightly. “I don’t really want to talk about him anymore.”_

_Ron smiles sympathetically. “Touched a nerve, did I?”_

_Harry shakes his head. “Shut up, Ron,” he mumbles._

_“Hermione says hi, by the way,” Ron says, fiddling with the cigarette in his hand._

_“How is she, anyway?”_

_“She’s alright. Happy to be back in school. You know how she is,” Ron replies. “Misses me a ton, or so she writes.”_

_Harry rolls his eyes. “She_ does _miss you, you tosser.”_

_Ron smiles shyly, and Harry is reminded of that night in the forest, both of them soaked to the bone with icy water._

_“Have you ever been in love?” Ron asks quietly._

_Harry hesitates. “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe.”_

_“I love Hermione, yeah? I’d die for her. It’d be a privilege to grow old with her. And the craziest thing is, is that I think she loves me too,” Ron says, his eyes growing wide._

_Harry nods, an affectionate smile growing on his face. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say she loves you.”_

_“Yeah, but what I’m saying is, it’s just mad. It’s not normal. It doesn’t feel real, you know. Not yet, at least.”_

_Harry shrugs. “So? It’s new. That’s understandable.”_

_“It’s scary, mate. That’s what I’m saying,” Ron says, throwing the cigarette to the ground. He steps on it._

_Harry raises his eyebrow. “I’m not following,” he says._

_“Frightening, love is. It’s got me afraid of things I never used to care about. Like, what if I don’t live long, and she does? Or vice versa? Or what if there’s an accident at school, and I lose her?”_

_“You’re being morbid,” Harry says. He tries to laugh, but it feels wrong._

_“She’s got my whole life in her hands, just by being the person I love most in this world,” Ron murmurs. “And she told me just the same too. She cares about me more than I care about myself, I think. It’s changed how I see my life.”_

_As he listens to Ron speak about love, Harry can’t stop imagining Draco. He wonders if he should offer Ron another cigarette or suggest they get a drink. Anything to get him to stop talking._

_“What do you mean?” Harry asks, anyway._

_“She’s not too pleased that I’m trying to be an Auror. Said she’d be worried all the time that I might not come home,” Ron replies._

_“Doesn’t that bother you?” Harry asks._

_Ron turns and looks at Harry puzzledly._

_“We’ve talked about children, our home together. She’s worried because she loves me. She’ll have a future with or without me, but she wants a future with me in it. Why would that bother me?”_

_Harry shrugs. He thinks of Draco’s labored breathing behind the closed door of his flat, of his white knuckles around the stem of his wine glass._

_“It’s a lot of responsibility. To have people care about you like that,” he mumbles. “I’m not sure I… It’s a lot.”_

_Ron looks down before turning towards Harry again. “It’s not a choice you have to make. You don’t get to choose who loves you or who doesn’t. Who you love, or who you don’t. You can only love and be loved.”_

_Harry sits quietly as he stares off at the children playing in the street. They look about eleven years old, and Harry suddenly feels sad._

_“Harry, it’s not a guarantee, so accept it while you can,” Ron adds, quietly._

_Harry lights another cigarette and holds it in his teeth. He gives a crooked smile to Ron as he shakes his head._

_“Since when did you get so wise?” he asks._

_“I’m smart when I want to be, ‘spose,” Ron answers, leaning his elbows back on the steps, his face turned towards the sky. He looks peaceful as the orange sky lights his skin. “Give me another one of those cigarettes, Harry.”_

_Harry holds the pack of cigarettes in his hand and feels guilty._

_“No,” he says. “These things are bad for you.”_

 

* * *

 

The light from the fireworks outside danced across the bare walls of his bedroom, where he laid alone. His suitcase sat by the door, filled with enough clothes for a few weeks, although he had only been home from the hospital for a few days.

It was New Year’s Eve, and he was alone in his room. An early-morning portkey to New York awaited him. Kingsley had mentioned that the American counterpart to the Auror department expressed interest in having Harry provide consultation.

“I told them that you’re still recovering,” Kingsley had said.

“No,” Harry had replied, pushing thoughts of Draco out of his mind. “I want to go.”

Desperate to avoid thinking about Draco, he took to drinking around the clock. He laughed at himself as he realised what a cliche he was, a drunk Auror with nothing but his cases to keep him company. He had pushed away the people who loved him by doing his best to become someone unlovable.

“They don’t need me,” he had said, staring at the mirror earlier that evening. “I’m meant to be temporary. It’d only hurt them when it happens.”

His head throbbed as a faint hangover settled in. He was on the verge of sleep when he heard someone shouting his name. Sitting up, he reached for his glasses.

“What the….” he mumbled, as he approached the door, his wand out.

“Potter!” someone called out before banging on the door again.

Torn between wanting to fling the door open and wanting to never open it again, he stood frozen.

Slowly, he undid the locking charms on his doors.

Draco walked in, his cheeks flushed from the cold.  As if he had expended all his energy into knocking on the door, he slumped against the wall.

“About time you opened the door,” Draco said, a bored expression on his face.

“I was sleeping,” Harry replied. He scratched his head. “Why are you here, Draco?”

Draco pushed himself away from the wall. He threw his head back and barked out a laugh.

“Why am I here? Why am I here, Potter? Hmm, let’s see,” Draco answered, and Harry began to think that maybe Draco was drunk. “You are the stupidest, most frustrating git I have ever known!”

“You’re drunk,” Harry stated.

“Oh, but it’s okay if you get pissed every day! I read the papers, seen the pictures of you stumbling out of the Leaky!”

Harry exasperatedly sighed. “Are you just here to insult me?”

“I’m not done, Potter, so don’t speak until I say you can,” Draco spat, his hands forming fists. Harry wondered if he should feel afraid, but as he saw Draco pace before him, he couldn’t feel afraid. Seeing Draco’s ripped edges only made him feel lonely and angry at himself.

“I was at Pansy’s for New Year’s Eve, and I was having a great time. Fantastic champagne, excellent food, enough potions to make your head spin just right. And who do I think of as the fucking clock strikes twelve?”

Draco’s face was contorted into a pained smile. Harry stared at Draco, silent and still as he waited for him to continue.

“I can’t stand the thought of you,” Draco muttered, his words like venom even as his eyes shone with tears.

“Draco-” Harry stepped haltingly towards Draco.

“‘Are you just here to insult me?’ Hah!” Draco continued. “It’s all you’ll let me do.”

He turned and walked slowly towards the door, his head slumped down.

Harry thought of the portkey waiting to take him to New York, of how close he had come to dying. He thought of Draco sleeping in the uncomfortable chairs at St. Mungo’s.

“Wait,” Harry called out. He walked towards Draco. “What would you rather do?”

Draco shook his head. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Harry reached out a hand to touch Draco’s shoulder. He could feel Draco shiver beneath his touch.

“I want…” Draco whispered. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

An ache seared through Harry’s chest as he thought about pushing Draco away. How far would he have to push him away for Draco to forget his way back? How much would he have to hide for Draco to realise that he is not the person he should love?

 _“It’s not a choice you have to make,”_ Ron had said.

Harry’s bones ached with the cold. He could feel his heart, like a battering ram, against his ribs, the liminal space which separated him from Draco becoming thin with wear. The fireworks lit up the night sky and filled the room with flashes of light, casting them in a wash of warm colour, and Harry wanted _that_ , just once more.

He stepped closer to Draco and slowly wrapped his arms around his waist. His face buried in the space between his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes.

“I am yours,” Harry whispered, sealing his fate for the night.

Draco’s shoulders tensed before he turned swiftly around and pulled Harry against him. As their lips crashed together, Harry felt like he had woken from his coma only then. He pulled Draco towards his bedroom, their hands fumbling against shirts and belts.

“I need-”

“Yes-”

“Now-”

Their bare bodies flush against each other, Draco let out a sigh of relief. He pinned Harry’s arms against his head, trailing his mouth against his neck. “Mine,” he murmured, his teeth biting gently into Harry’s shoulder.

“Yours,” Harry sighed.

Later, Draco’s hips ceased moving as his hands tightly gripped Harry’s hips. Harry followed Draco’s eyes, which glared at the suitcases by the door.

“You’re-” Draco breathed, “leaving?”

Harry nodded, his mouth half open. “Tomorrow.”

Draco drew his hips back. “Think of me,” he said before thrusting his hips as deep as they could go, “when you’re gone.”

“I do,” Harry moaned, half-wincing from the stretch. “I always do.”

Draco’s hips bucked wildly as he drove into Harry. When Harry imagined sleeping with Draco again, he anticipated a tender reunion, all slow and gentle movements, to mirror the feelings he had inside. But things were rarely ever so gentle like that between them. They had always been limbs wrapped around limbs wrapped around hips, sweat and tears, blood and bruises.

With his eyes focused on the suitcase, he clung onto Harry.

“You’re mine,” Draco growled. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes-”

“Say it. Say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Draco,” Harry whispered. He repeated it again, louder, his voice a moan as he grasped at his own hard cock. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, as if afraid to look at him.   

Draco cried out as he came. He took Harry’s cock in his hands and jerked him quickly, pulling him closer and closer as his come splattered on them both.

In the morning, he would be gone, but for now, Harry would give him all he had.

 

* * *

 

 _“Is that all you’ve got, Potter?”_ _Draco yells as he zooms past Harry. It is unseasonably warm for an early November afternoon, and Draco’s forearms arms glisten with sweat as he holds tightly to his broom._

_“Are you sure you want an answer?” Harry shouts in reply. Leaning forward on his broom, he flies towards Draco. The air whips through his hair, and for a moment, he feels buoyant._

_“What are you-” Draco cries, realising that Harry is aiming towards him as he jets through the air. Harry nosedives at the last moment, letting out a whoop of delight._

_“Don’t taunt me, Malfoy,” Harry yells. He brushes his hair out of his face as he catches his breath. He begins to laugh as he sees Draco’s scowl. Flying slowly upwards to him, he smiles in mock sympathy._

_“You’re out of your mind,” Draco tells him. His arms cross in front of his chest defensively. He knows he is being more dramatic than the situation calls for, but Harry’s recklessness touched a nerve with him unexpectedly._

_“C’mon, Draco. All in good fun,” Harry says. He pulls his broom beside Draco, the two of them hovering meters above the streets of Hogsmeade. He feels the smile fade from his face as the anger radiates from Draco’s skin._

_“A little warning would have been nice.”_

_“A little warning would have defeated the point!”_

_Draco chest heaves as he turns towards Harry, the bitterness of the words stinging as they leave his mouth._

_“You’re a child, Potter. Grow up.”_

_Harry’s eyes narrow as he shakes his head. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m just having fun.”_

_“It’s your prerogative if you want to be reckless with your life, but leave me out of it. I’ve done enough babysitting,” Draco mutters._

_“Babysitting? Is that what this is?” Harry asks incredulously. “What? You think you’re here to keep an eye on me? To save my life?”_

_Draco stares silently in the distance, his jaw clenched to keep his words from tumbling out. Although it is November, they have yet to talk about the war, about Harry’s journey to death and back. Draco suspects that Harry is broken far more than he lets on, but he feels broken too. He feels worse without Harry, and it is with this realisation that he understands why he is angry. He glances at Harry and sees the defiant glint in his eyes, his scar of “I Must Not Tell Lies” gleaming in the sun._

_“I should get dinner started,” Draco says quietly. He curls his lips into a smile and hopes it looks real. He smiles and tells Harry that he is feeling tired, the way that he used to throw his body in front of his in the pit. Absorb some of the pain so that Harry doesn’t have to feel its sting so acutely. He wonders how much more he can take before he is broken beyond recognition._

_Harry’s eyes darken as he glances at Draco. He opens his mouth as if to speak. Draco is flying back towards his flat, and all Harry can do is watch him go._

 

* * *

 

Draco held the chalk pastel between his fingers and stared at the large piece of paper before him. As he closed his eyes, images of Harry flooded his mind. Like a phantom limb pain, his chest ached as he thought of Harry’s hands grazing his back, of his lips against his neck.

Anger rushed towards the surface of his skin as he thought of the suitcase by the door, of Harry disentangling himself from Draco’s arms before dawn. Draco had kept his eyes closed and wondered if Harry would wake him to say goodbye. He waited and waited, and just as he had decided to swallow his pride and get out of bed, he heard the door close.

Opening his eyes, he began to draw. As his hand moved smoothly over the paper, he felt the knot in his stomach loosen. He continued to draw as if in a trance, the sun shifting throughout the room with the passage of time.

The colours blended together in a wash before they descended into black. Taking an ink pen, he began to sketch above the pastels. His lines became human figures, their arms and legs entwined in an embrace. He stepped away from the paper, his breath unsteady as he took in his creation.

Aiming his wand with his hand, he murmured the spell to bring the sketched figures to life. Concentrating on his emotions, he saw the figures step away from each other. One held his hand out while the other ran across the page. The one dropped his hand and began to spin, becoming smaller and smaller on the page. The other ceased running and turned back, his hand outstretched as he began to run back across the page. The two figures collided and melted into an embrace before the animation began again, a ceaseless loop.

“I’m yours,” Harry had whispered. Draco wondered if those words still applied, even when Harry was an ocean away. He wondered if Harry meant them when he threw his body into the pit, when he ran headfirst into a raid, when he smoked too many cigarettes and was too drunk to speak.

Draco watched as the figures ran towards each other, their arms outstretched in unspoken yearning. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. A weary cold settled into his bones, like no matter what he did, he could never get warm enough, his whole body experiencing a phantom pain from being without Harry. With slumped shoulders, he walked towards his kitchen to make some Earl Grey. It wasn’t raining, but Draco hadn’t noticed.

 

* * *

 

_Draco shifts from foot to foot, rain steadily falling on him, as he tries to blend into the brick wall behind him. He realizes that this must be how it feels to not fit in. Until his family’s downfall and his subsequent introduction to the Muggle world, he had only known privilege. He never worried about walking into a room and not belonging._

_Standing on the pavement of a Muggle London street while crowds of people entered the pub behind him makes him feel invisible. Realizing that no one will throw anything at him or grab at him demanding justice makes him relax. He is no one but himself._

_“Hey,” he hears a familiar voice beside him. “Sorry I’m late.”_

_Harry stands beside him in black jeans and a hoodie, his hands buried in his pocket. Something about seeing him in Muggle clothing again makes Draco feel warm. Comfortable, even._

_“Since you kept me waiting outside on this frigid and rainy Halloween night, you need to buy me a drink,” Draco says, his tone flippant even as he smiles openly at Harry._

_“It’s October. It’s not frigid,” Harry replies, grinning, as he shivers from a gust of wind. Eager to be indoors, he grabs Draco’s arm. “C’mon, let’s get drunk.”_

_They make their way into the pub, where the music plays so loudly they can feel it in their hearts._

_"Here!” Harry yells, handing Draco a shot glass full of brown liquor._

_Draco questions the contents of the glass by raising his eyebrow._

_“Just drink it!” Harry demands. He raises it slightly, and Draco touches his glass to Harry’s._

_“To my mum and dad!” Harry shouts. He tilts his head back and swallows the shot in one gulp. Draco follows suit. Even as it burns his throat and chest, he merely blinks. He learned from an early age how to hold his liquor. He grabs Harry’s arm._

_“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head closer to Harry’s ear. He’s talking about Harry’s toast to his parents and not the liquor, but Harry just says, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? It’s only whisky.”_

_He plasters a smile on his face as he tries to ignore Draco’s concern. He is a spinning top, in denial of the inescapable tumbling down. He wants to forget himself. He wishes Draco would forget him too._

_He buys more shots._

_They are drunkenly kicking and spinning around in the mosh pit when Draco realises that Harry is crying. He grabs hold of Harry and pulls him off to the side. He can feel Harry fighting against him, and he grabs his hands and pulls them down._

_“I’m fine,” he shouts. Draco pulls him closer, his arms wrapping around Harry’s shaking shoulders. The crowd flows around them as the band keeps playing, their screams masking Harry’s sobs._

_“I’m fine,” he repeats, even as he buries his face in Draco’s shoulder. Draco holds him until his shoulders stop shaking and his breathing turns steady. Letting go, he steps back. Harry’s glasses are smudged. Draco slyly takes his wand out of his pocket and whispers, “Scourgify.”_

_Harry smiles weakly._

_“Wanna go?” he asks, tilting his head up towards Draco’s ear._

_They are quiet as they walk through the streets._

_“Sorry about…” Harry’s voice trails. His shaky hands fumble with his lighter as he holds a cigarette between his lips._

_“Let me,” Draco uses an Incendio to light the cigarette._

_“Hah,” Harry gives a crooked smile, the lit cigarette glowing orange. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He wants to keep walking. The empty streets feel too open, somehow._

_“You don’t have to apologise,” Draco replies. They are stopped on the corner as they wait for the traffic light to turn green._

_Harry blows smoke off to the side and shrugs._

_“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want me to just guess what that was about?” Draco asks._

_“You could just use Legilimens and spare me the trouble,” Harry sighs._

_Draco grabs the cigarette from his hands and takes a long drag. The light turns green, but they remain still._

_“I’m not using Legilimens on you,” he replies, exasperatedly. “If I’m not mistaken, I am your friend. Meaning, you can tell me if something is wrong.”_

_He hands the cigarette back to Harry, who just shrugs again._

_“Or, if you’d rather get pissed and listen to that awful noise you call music, we can do that too.”_

_Harry glances at him and bites his lip nervously. He stares at Draco, who is dressed in Harry’s clothes again. Draco is taller, his limbs thin and long, but somehow his jeans and hoodies don’t look out of place. Harry isn’t surprised at all that they fit._

_“I don’t even know how to put into words what I’m feeling,” he replies._

_“Well, articulation and intelligent conversation have never been your strong-suit,” Draco replies, breezily as he hooks his arm with Harry’s. “C’mon, let’s get a pint.”_

_“I’ll second that,” Harry says,and he smiles._

_Harry leans his head against Draco slightly as they walk. It’s comfortable in a way that is more than friends but less than romantic. Something like feeling understood. Safe, even._

_Before they reach the next pub, Harry stops them._

_“My parents died on Halloween,” he tells him. “With everything that’s happened, I’ve been thinking about them more.”_

_He stares blankly at people walking across the street as he speaks. He looks up at Draco and shrugs._

_“For everything you’ve been through, it’s surprising how well you’re doing,” Draco says softly._

_“Shut up, Draco,” Harry replies. Even though he is rolling his eyes, he grabs Draco’s arm and pulls him into the pub._

_“I mean, you could be that guy,” Draco says mischievously, pointing at a drunken man vomiting into the street._

_“You’re awful,” Harry laughs as he elbows him, shaking his head._

_“I’ll hold your hair,” Draco teases._

_“Buy me a drink first, at least,” Harry insists. Draco stares at him a beat too long._

Anything, _Draco thinks._ Anything you ask is yours.

_“What do you want then?” He asks, instead._

 

* * *

 

Harry noticed the blonde seated a few bar stools away from him as he ordered another pint of beer. The man was well-dressed, and his voice was quiet and smooth as he spoke with the bartender.

“This is from your friend,” the bartender said, gesturing sideways with his head as he placed the pint in front of him. Harry glanced over to find the blonde staring at him, a smile playing at his lips.

The jet-lag burned Harry’s eyes with weariness, and he felt more inclined to sit in silence, but he had always been polite. Harry raised the pint and nodded.

“Cheers,” he nodded.

The blonde man raised his eyebrows and walked over to Harry. “You’re not from around here,” he noted.

“Your observations are correct,” Harry replied. He took a sip of his pint. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“I’m David,” the blonde said, extending his hand. Harry shook it.

“Harry.”

“What brings you to New York?”

“Work,” Harry said after hesitating slightly. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Well, now you _have_ to tell me what you do,” David insisted. “I’m intrigued.”

Harry grinned and cursed himself mentally.

“It’s really boring, trust me,” he replied. He nervously took a swig of his beer.

“Sounds top secret. Though you look a little young to already be a spy,” David said, smiling. Harry was taken aback by the ease with which David smiled, the openness of his eyes. His hair was ice blonde and slicked back, his outfit tailored precisely, but his face felt mismatched. Harry gulped down the rest of his beer and tried not to think.

Wiping his mouth, he shook his head. “I’m not much for talking.”

David’s smile turned coy. “We don’t have to talk,” he murmured, “if you have other things in mind.”

Harry gazed at David, his finger tracing the edge of his pint glass. At a loss for words, he just shrugged.

 

* * *

 

_Draco’s touch is like a whisper as his fingers trace the edge of Harry’s face. His body casts a long shadow on the wall, the London sky a burst of oranges and reds._

_“Draco,” Harry whispers. His hand grasping the back of Draco’s neck, he pulls him down for a kiss. Draco moves inside him languorously, like they have all the time in the world._

_It is the summer after the war, and they both survived. He supposes they do._

_He places his hands on either side of Harry’s head, their lips a breath away. The sound of gasps and soft murmuring fills Harry’s bedroom. Draco keeps his eyes open as he thrusts slowly inside Harry, whose half-lidded green eyes stare up at him with a sense of wonder that Draco was sure would be stolen by the war. Harry is looking up at him with something like adoration, and Draco wants to say words to him that he isn’t sure Harry wants to hear._

_He kisses him instead._

_Harry writhes below him, his legs wrapped around Draco’s narrow hips. Sweat covers him, and he feels like he might just ignite into flames. A rebirth. As if it was Draco that pulled him from the fire._

_He wants to die a thousand times if it means he can feel Draco’s lips against his, feel his fingers on his face, feel the fullness of Draco inside of him. This is the stone, the cloak, the wand. He feels invincible as his eyes finally fall shut, his arms holding onto Draco so tightly._

_Later, they lay beside each other. Draco’s eyes close easily as he rests his head against Harry’s chest. Their breathing slows, and it is quiet. They hear muffled noises from the street below. Someone is singing in the apartment next door. Harry struggles to describe this feeling, until Draco lifts his head to look at him. His eyes are a cool grey, and Harry thinks of a still ocean._

_Peace._

That’s what this is, _he realises. He thinks that he could love these moments, that he could love Draco, and the thought fills him with fear._

_“Not bad for our first time,” Draco murmurs, smiling lazily at Harry._

_Harry merely kisses him in reply. Words are lost to him, as he struggles to wrap his mind around his revelation._

I get it now, _he thinks silently._ I need you.

 

* * *

David’s hands grabbed roughly at Harry’s body. Harry leaned his head against the elevator wall and felt David’s tongue against his neck. His breath was in his ear, as he whispered, “I want to fuck you.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. He tried to whimper in pleasure, but it sounded too high and thin to be real. David couldn’t tell the difference, however, and he moaned lowly in response.

The elevator doors opened, and they stumbled into the hotel hallway. Harry gasped for air as David pulled him close and rubbed a hand against his hardening cock. Harry felt the blood rush to his groin, and he suddenly felt ashamed.

Harry’s mind raced as he let himself kiss and be kissed. He heard David open the door to his hotel room. He told himself that he belonged to no one, that this was proof that he was not worth anyone’s heart. _You are broken_ , he told himself. _Keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces, and then no one will recognize you._

David breathed heavily as he worked open the buttons to Harry’s shirt. His eyes still closed, Harry only thought of Draco’s breathing behind the slammed door. David held him close as he kissed him again, and Harry felt tears well in his eyes. This was what he wanted.

Freedom. To feel nothing. To break past the point of recognition. To start over.

Harry opened his eyes and, for a fleeting moment, it was Draco who stood before him, looking down as he tried to undo his belt. But then, the man looked up, and Harry shattered to dust.

 

* * *

 

_“What do you think it means to be happy?” Harry asks. The August sun has yet to rise, and so, for now, his bedroom is cool with the breeze drifting in._

_Draco looks at him, his eyebrow perked. “Waxing philosophical before dawn, Potter?”_

_Harry turns on his side and entwines his legs with Draco’s. “No, really. What do you think makes some people happier than others?”_

_Their movements are easy. Draco pulls Harry closer until his head rests against his chest. Draco breathes in the familiar scent of Harry’s hair. It is comforting to him, and he marvels that there was a time where he didn’t know it so intimately. His chest rising and falling, he considers his answer._

_“Some people are just happier, in general,” he says, “while for others, it’s not their natural state. It can feel like a gift. Rare, even.”_

_His fingers graze Harry’s back gently as he speaks. He wonders if Harry could hear his heartbeat._

_Harry glances up and smiles softly. He stares into Draco’s eyes and notices that they are the colour of the sky. He doesn’t have the energy to fight anything right now, not when he feels like they are the only two people alive, the world in the transitional space between sleeping and waking._

_“You make me happy, you know,” he mumbles._

_Draco smiles back, his cheeks turning a faint pink. “Did you wake me up at five AM to tell me that?”_

_Harry lays his head back down on Draco’s chest. “I just wanted you to know,” he replies, kissing Draco’s chest absentmindedly._

_“I know, Harry,” he replies. He wants to tell him that he is happier than he ever thought he’d be. Tat every day he wakes up with Harry feels like the best surprise gift he’s ever been given. There are still moments when Harry is not so candid with him. Sometimes, Draco feels like Harry looks through him, his eyes fixed on a point a thousand metres and lifetimes away. In those moments, the closer he is to Harry’s heart, the deeper it burrows. He chooses his next words carefully._

_“Can you hear my heartbeat?” Draco asks quietly. Harry nestles against Draco’s chest and closes his eyes._

_“Yeah,” Harry whispers._

 

* * *

 

Harry pulled his jacket tighter around him and buried his face in his scarf as he walked to the Muggle entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. The January wind had a bite to it that made him eager to sit by a fireplace. He said a silent prayer that Draco’s Floo was open.

He entered the Leaky Cauldron. Too late for lunch yet too early for dinner, the pub was sparsely filled. Grateful to be uninterrupted, Harry approached the fireplace and gathered some Floo powder in his hands.

“Draco Malfoy’s flat,” he announced, stepping into the green flames.

He emerged a moment later in Draco’s living room and stumbled as he regained his footing. Relief swelled in his chest that Draco had not warded him from entering. Harry glanced at the small living room as he brushed soot off his shoulders.

A large piece of paper covered the dining table. Harry walked towards it and saw two figures, their arms reaching out as they approached each other. The colours were vibrant behind them, a shifting sea of greens and blues which melted into purples, pinks, and reds. Harry felt an ache in his chest as the figures ran towards each other, their arms seeming to melt around each other.

A kettle began to whistle, and with a start, Harry realised that Draco was home.

“Draco?” Harry called out, his voice hesitant. He heard footsteps approaching from the kitchen.

“Harry?”

Draco stood in the doorway holding a plate of shortbread.

“Hey,” Harry replied. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips as he soaked in the familiar sight, even as tears threatened to fill his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Draco set the plate on the coffee table and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m…I…” Harry started. “I wanted to come home.”

“What about America?” Draco asked apprehensively.

“I don’t know. Don’t care.”

“But you’re here.”

Harry stepped towards Draco. “I’m here.”

Draco extended his arms as if to reach out for Harry, before they fell to his sides, and Harry thought of the drawing. He looked down in guilt.

“Do you want some tea?” Draco asked, as he gestured towards the kitchen.

Harry nodded. As Draco walked towards the kitchen, he took his coat, scarves, and shoes off and sat on the couch. He felt his nerves and breath more acutely, like he did when he approached the Forest.

But instead of awaiting death, he sat quietly as he waited for Draco. _This is the stone, the cloak, the wand,_ he had realised the first afternoon he had let Draco inside him.

Draco was a lease on life, a hand reaching out. A way out of the rubble. He knew that now.

“Here,” Draco said, a moment later, placing the cup on the table. “Have a biscuit, if you’d like.”

Draco sat on the sofa, his gaze impassive. He sipped on his tea, even as Harry moved closer. Harry placed a tentative hand on his knee.

“Draco,” Harry said quietly. Draco glanced at him, his chest heaving. Harry took the tea cup from his hands and set it on the table.

“What is it?” Draco asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak. Faltering, he wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him against his chest. Draco let out a long exhale and remained still in his arms.  

“You left,” he whispered.

“I messed up,” Harry acknowledged. “I don’t want to be like that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry closed his eyes. “I want to feel... warm again. I don’t want to push you away.”

Draco’s eyes closed. “I’m tired of being the only one in this.”

Draco’s voice shook as he spoke. His breathing was slow and steady, like it had been the night they fought, the door separating them. Harry closed his eyes and let his hand drift through Draco’s hair. A lump rose to his throat when Draco didn’t stop him. He tried to think of how to describe his feelings, but no words would have been sufficient.

“Can you hear it?” Harry asked, instead.

“Hear what?” Draco asked.

Harry looked down at Draco, whose ear was pressed to his chest.

“My heart,” Harry murmured. “Do you hear it?”

Draco nodded, his eyes opening. Harry wondered if he understood, if he remembered that morning when the air was calm and the sky was the colour of Draco’s eyes.

“Yes,” Draco answered.

He lifted his head from Harry’s chest and met his gaze. Harry looked back at Draco with open eyes, eyes which shone brightly with tears, eyes no longer afraid of seeing him.

They tilted their heads towards each other slowly, and as their lips met in a kiss, their hearts beat wildly against their ribs, proof that they had not only survived but that they were _alive_.

 

  



End file.
